The Bet
by wordsmithsonian
Summary: Ron is worried about his marriage. Lately it seems like Hermione has been treating him like just another piece of furniture cluttering up their flat. Can he turn things around with a friendly wager?   R/Hr, H/G. Rating for language and sex.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my entry for the Ron and Hermione Big Bang. **

**The other stories from the fabulous contributing authors can be found at rhrlove . com (without spaces). Please go give them some love, it's a Ron and Hermione shipper's paradise over there! There are also some amazing illustrations for every fic at the website, and you can see the splendifirous illustrations for my fic as well (you should go take a look, they're quite awesome) Thank you to napchic and redheadsarehot for their beautiful illustrations for 'The Bet'! I also illustrated two fics, mugglemama's 'Now What' and otterandterrier's 'Tales of the Strangers' if you're interested in seeing my R/Hr fanart.**

**Anyway, I'm still not J.K. Rowling and I still own nothing Harry Potter. **

**There are 8 chapters to this fic, which is completed, and I will be posting them all here eventually. The fic definitely deserves its rating in later chapters.**

**Thank you to my super-Beta, urbanmama1, for all of your invaluable help!  
**

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...Chapter 1...

"Ow! Son of a blast-ended skrewt!"

Ron paused in brushing his teeth to look over his shoulder at his wife, who appeared to be deeply embroiled in a boisterous battle with her hairbrush.

The hairbrush appeared to be winning.

"Now just ... no! Oh fine, just _be_ that way, you abominably ineffective cosmetic tool!"

Ron spat into the sink, rinsing with water and struggling not to laugh. Hermione shoved him aside, standing before the mirror as she tried to remove the hopelessly tangled bristles from her untamed mass of hair. Ron stood at full height behind her, trying to look menacing with a toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth.

"Oi! I was usin' that!"

She didn't even answer him, instead waving him away with her hands just as though he were an irritating insect buzzing around her head.

Ron sighed, earning a squeak of disapproval as he tossed his toothbrush over her head to land in the sink. That's how she had been treating him lately, like an irritating insect to be shooed away at the first opportunity. It seemed like they barely spoke now, and even more worrying, they almost never argued. Over anything. It wasn't natural, the way they'd been getting along, like two polite strangers living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed.

There was another problem; sleeping was about all they'd been doing in bed lately. Ron couldn't even remember the last time they'd ... well, okay, yeah he could remember, in vivid detail with a few slow motion close-ups, but he'd prefer a reenactment.

He threw on his jacket, grabbing his satchel and poking his head into the bathroom to find Hermione still battling through her morning routine.

"Bye, love."

She nodded, waving those irritated hands again. Ron swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, as she didn't even look at him.

This was bad. Now she wasn't kissing him goodbye when he left for work. Gor, he remembered a time when he could never get out the bloody door, she was kissing him so much. And more often than not, they'd ended up back in bed and he'd have to get dressed all over again before rushing in late under Harry's knowing smirk.

He trudged to the fireplace, tossing in a bit of powder before stepping in and flooing to work, the weight of his floundering marriage impossibly heavy on his shoulders.

...

Hermione sighed, blowing a lock of hair out of her face in frustration. It was apparently going to be one of those mornings. The kind that merely hinted at the mountain of frustration she would be required to climb for the rest of the day.

She grabbed her hairbrush with both hands, yanking it viciously through her hair, grimacing at the sharp sting and ripping sounds that resulted. There was simply nothing for it but to press on at this point. She had run out of Sleekeazy's hair potion and thus was forced to deal with her hair in its natural state, which was, to put it politely, absolutely horrid. She tightened her hold on the brush and gave it another yank, her arms flying out as the brush backing separated entirely from the bristles, leaving them deeply embedded in her hair.

She looked at the broken brush in her hands, and then up to herself in the mirror, a sound escaping her that rather remarkably resembled the whistle of a boiling teakettle.

That. Was It.

She was losing patience with this day, and it had only just begun. First, Ron had left his dirty breakfast dishes sitting on the table, expecting her to clean up after him just like his Mum. It was an annoying habit of his that had been especially grating this morning, as she had already been running late.

And now this.

This hair debacle was the cherry on top of what was shaping up to be a terrible day. Growling with rage, she pulled the bristles from her hair, taking several large clumps of brown curls along with them. Then with a few sharp movements she twisted her hair as close to her head as possible, securing it with several thousand pins before rolling it all into a tight bun in the back and ruthlessly securing that as well.

She gazed critically into the mirror. Merlin knew it wouldn't hold all day, but if she was lucky she could get through her first meeting with both hair and dignity intact.

She whirled in panic, her eyes finding the clock over the mantelpiece. Her meeting! It began in just ten minutes and she was only marginally prepared. Well, Ron would have said that she was obsessively prepared, but she had only gathered all of her documents and looked over them twice yesterday. Usually she would have given them a closer study in the morning, but today...

Today was going to be horrid, and all that she could do was carry on to tomorrow.

…

Ron aimed a vicious kick at the rubbish bin beside Harry's desk, bringing his best mate's head up with eyebrows raised over hilariously askew glasses.

"Something wrong, mate?"

Ron shrugged, sitting in the chair opposite Harry that was usually reserved for witnesses, resting his booted feet heavily on the desk.

"Yeah, maybe. I dunno. Nah, not really."

Harry's face gave that sort of amused twitch that it always did when he thought one of his friends was acting mental. He rolled his eyes before shuffling some papers on his desk, adjusting his glasses as he read the new reports.

"Hmm. Well, I'm certainly glad we could clear that up."

Ron kicked his desk, making Harry look back up with sharp green eyes.

"Look, if you're plan for the day is to hang around kicking all of my things, then you obviously have enough free time to look over a few of these papers for me. I'm swamped and I told Gin I'd be home early today and-"

"Why's Ginny want you home early? Seems to me she'd be happy enough to be rid of you for a few blessed moments."

Harry's eyes glinted over the papers he thrust into Ron's hands, something glimmering like hope or pride or ... well, something behind his glasses. Hermione would know, right off. She was always spot on with Harry's emotions. Been a bit off lately with Ron's though, he would say. She hadn't seemed to notice his growing melancholy over the past few weeks.

He took the papers, carelessly tossing them into the air before keeping them suspended with a flick of his wand, floating them over to his own desk a few feet from Harry's. Harry watched him with amusement.

"Oh, for f'sakes. You're such a show-off. I suppose it'd be too much to expect you to carry those over to your desk yourself."

Ron gave him a look of mock offense.

"What, y'mean like a muggle? Besides, I've got a reputation to maintain, can't let anyone around here see me doing too much work or they'll stop saying I'm lazy."

Harry just shook his head, returning to his work. Ron liked to pretend to laziness; in fact it was an image he had carefully cultivated. He had found that it helped in keeping his enemies off balance, if they were always underestimating him. Harry found the whole thing ridiculous, but he kept his mouth shut for the most part. A characteristic that was a treasured part of their friendship.

Ron stood to head over to his own desk, pausing as Harry called his name.

"Ron, wait. Do you think that you and Hermione could make it to our place for dinner?"

Ron cocked his head, trying to remember Hermione's schedule. He thought that she would be done a bit early today, but he was far from certain. He looked at Harry's face, beaming up at him with an unusual level of eagerness. It was apparently important that they make it to dinner.

He nodded, deciding that he would visit Hermione on her lunch hour to make sure she knew the change of plans. He winced inwardly; Hermione hated any changes of plans that she had not arranged herself. He expected a bit of a lecture on time management or something.

Actually ... a tiny smile played at his lips as he pictured himself on the receiving end of one of Hermione's lectures. If he was smart, he'd say something rude and it could very well turn into a proper row. If he was really lucky, it would be the kind of row that ended with them tearing each other's clothes off, murmuring apologies into each exposed bit of skin…

Harry was looking at him oddly, and he really hoped his thoughts didn't show on his face.

"Yeah, alright Harry. We'll be there."

Harry nodded, giving him one last odd look before returning to his papers, his hands running through his hair until it stood on end like soldiers at attention.

Ron dragged himself through the rest of the morning, keeping one eye on the clock as he tried to sort out the best way to approach Hermione. Several possibilities ran through his head in the interminable hours before lunch.

"Harry'd like us to come over for dinner Hermione; I think it'd mean a lot to him."

But then she'd probably ask him why it meant so much this particular evening, and he didn't have a bloody clue. Well. He supposed he could try for a more assertive approach.

"We're goin' to Harry and Gin's for dinner, woman, and that's that!"

Yeah, that'd be the perfect angle to go at it ... if he was hoping for a permanent separation from his bollocks.

Ron sighed, thunking his forehead onto his desk as he resigned himself to simply pleading with his wife for permission to go. If he was really lucky, he'd get some eye contact at least, before she rolled them in disgust over his and Harry's lack of forethought.

He rolled his own eyes up to look at the clock, jerking upright in his chair as he realized the time had arrived to floo over to Hermione's office.

...

"Bloody Hell!"

A tight string of curses interspersed with dry coughing erupted from the fireplace in Hermione's office, which had been boarded up that morning for network repairs. A few loud thumping sounds confirmed what she already knew. Her husband had managed to trap himself in her fireplace.

She removed the covering with a swish of her wand, replacing it as he stepped out, still cursing and shaking himself so that soot and dust flew everywhere.

"Ron! Hold still for goodness' sake! You're getting my office positively filthy!"

He gave her an especially dirty look from beneath black-streaked fringe.

"I'm getting your office filthy? Oh, excuse me. Perhaps I should just hop back into the fireplace for you!"

She shook her head, muttering cleaning spells as her wand sucked the soot from his hair and clothing, saving his skin for last. One always had to concentrate a bit more when magically cleansing skin, as it was rather sensitive. And, as irritated as she was with her husband right now, she didn't want to hurt him.

Once she finished with him, she set about cleaning the area he had been standing in, ignoring his exaggerated sighing from over her shoulder. Finally satisfied with the state of things, she turned around to face him, planting her fisted hands on her hips.

"Do you care to tell me why, precisely, you decided to trap yourself in my fireplace?"

His already dark look gained a few more clouds of discontent, stirred by the stiff breeze of fury rushing across his face.

"I? I decided? To trap myself? What are you on about! I try to come here to see my bloody wife and her fucking fireplace is blocked up! How the hell is this my fault!"

Hermione's eyebrows swooped down in disapproval. He was so disrespectful sometimes! This was her place of work; he needed to watch his language here. Not that he could be bothered with something like that. She stomped forward until she stood just close enough that she could reach out and grab his ear if she wanted to. Which, yes, she did want to, but she was still trying to preserve her dignity.

"Honestly, Ron! I told you about this at breakfast! I said that due to a complication further up the line, my fireplace would be blocked up until 2:30 for repairs! You nodded and said that it sounded like rubbish to you."

She rolled her eyes at the look of utter astonishment on his face.

"I suppose I shouldn't be at all surprised to learn that you weren't listening to me. As usual."

The look of astonishment was quickly replaced by anger as he straightened up from slouching against her desk, pulling his ears nearly out of reach.

"How'm I supposed to remember every little bloody detail you tell me about your work? Feels like I'm in class sometimes, the way you go on about the place. M'just thankful you don't quiz me every morning!"

She scoffed loudly, hurt that what she considered friendly conversation was obviously so boring for him.

"You should be thankful, as it is quite obvious that you wouldn't pass a one! You can never be bothered to pay attention when I'm speaking to you."

A deep hurt washed across his face, so quickly that she nearly missed it before he had covered it up with more anger.

"I don't listen to you? When was the last time you spoke to me? About something' besides work or the state of the flat?"

Hermione drew up short in confusion. She, well, she couldn't remember. Which seemed odd, since she spoke with him every day. Was it really all about her work or nagging him about their flat? When had she become a nag and a bore? Had it been a slow progression or a rapid switch? She couldn't remember.

He was watching her now, with those eyes. Those magnificent crystal blue eyes, that darkened in fury and passion, just for her. Her eyes dropped to his arms, crossed tightly over his chest, and then his hips, which were nearly exposed as his shirt was rucked up beneath his arms. When was the last time they had...?

Over a month ago, surely. Possibly two. She had just been so busy ... with work and such. She felt a flood of shame wash over her. Not only was she a nag and a bore, she was shaping up to be an all-round terrible wife.

She looked back up into his eyes, guilt and dread seizing her gut. Was it finally happening, then? Her deepest, most secret fears? Had he gone off her and come just now to chuck her properly?

He opened his mouth but her hands flew up to cover it, her eyes wide as she thought desperately for something to say, to stave off her execution.

"I'm sorry."

His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline, and she spotted a bit of soot she had missed in the cleanup, licking her thumb and brushing it across his skin. His eyes crinkled a bit at the corners but his mouth remained flat. Those eyes were running across her face, looking wary and hopeful and urging her to continue.

She licked her lips, her stomach twisting as she tried to compose herself. She could already feel her hair escaping, riotous curls tickling the back of her neck. She was coming undone, falling to pieces at his feet. She took a deep breath, running her hands down the sides of her skirt.

"You're right."

He opened his mouth wide, thrusting his finger in the air like a politician making a point, before crumpling his face in perplexity, his hand falling limp at his side.

"Pardon?"

She rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to tap her foot with impatience. He hated when she did that.

"I said: 'You're right', Ron."

"I am? I mean, yeah, I know I am, but ...well ... I guess I didn't expect you to see it that way."

She turned her back to him, pacing to the fireplace and back.

"In this instance, I can see how you may have felt..."

She waved her hands vaguely, searching for the right words. He did that to her sometimes, made her forget all of her hard-won knowledge and just stare at him like an imbecile.

His lips tilted up at the corners, flooding her with relief as he threw out words with overly helpful rapidity.

"Neglected? Forgotten? Overlooked? Unwanted? Stupid? Clumsy? Useless? Hen-pecked?"

She wagged her finger sternly at the last, giving him a menacing look.

"That is quite enough, I think. I comprehend your meaning quite well without further need of clarification."

He shut his mouth, pressing his lips together to hide his grin.

There it was.

That ... _something_ that had been missing in his face, for weeks now. It had returned, wrapped in swaths of humor and relief, just barely glimmering through the surface.

Joy.

She felt a prick of shame deep in her chest. When had she pulled the joy out of his eyes?

It was time to reevaluate a few things, starting with her work schedule. She had planned on making a late night of it, working on her big presentation coming up next week. Now well, now she wanted nothing more than to spend some time with her husband, getting ... reacquainted.

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**Thanks for reviewing!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own anything Harry Potter, I'm not J.K. Rowling.**

**Thank you _ikki0077, Miesterburger, _and _Iloveyou-PS_ for reviewing, I always appreciate feedback!**

**Again, the fic is still posted at rhrlove . com with the accompanying illustrations.  
**

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... Chapter 2 ...

Ron took his wife's arm as they walked up the drive to the Potters' modest home. Her elbow cupped in his hand was enough to send tiny shockwaves across his skin. How was it possible for a person to be so soft? Her elbow, of all places!

The light on the front porch was on, adding a warm glow to the dusk. It seemed there was always a warm glow around the Potters' place. The wankers never could have a proper row. Ron would have been happier walking in on Harry ducking a frying pan or something. Alas, their best friend emerged from his front door, waving and smiling like a bloody lunatic. He absolutely glowed with joy, far outshining the porch light.

Wanker.

Ron pasted a smile on his face as he led Hermione up the stairs with one hand spread across her back. She was more subdued than usual tonight. Sometimes when he did that she would turn around to snap at him that she was quite capable of walking on her own, thankyouverymuch, or other such rubbish. Tonight, she glided up the stairs and entered the house with a small smile at Harry, immediately breaking away to visit with Ginny in the kitchen.

Ron stared after her, more than a bit puzzled. At some point during their row that afternoon, she had simply ... deflated, all of the fight just rushing out of her like so much air. She had quietly agreed to dinner with Harry and gone back to work, leaving him stranded in her office until she directed him to the emergency Floo exit.

A quiet, subdued Hermione was nothing short of terrifying, frankly. There had to be something there, boiling just beneath the surface. With his luck whatever it was would explode in his face when he tried to make a move tonight. He'd been planning something all afternoon. It was a little bit pathetic, really. A married man reduced to scheming to get into his wife's knickers.

"Ron? Ron? Y'there, mate?"

Ron jerked his head toward Harry to find him standing off to the side, arms crossed and the most irritating smirk plastered on his face. This was going to be a long evening. Nothing made him more acutely aware of the problems in his own marriage than being faced with the glittering, bouncy joy of dinner with the Potters.

"Fancy a butterbeer?"

Harry was already headed toward the kitchen, the ridiculous spring in his step already grating on Ron's nerves. Ron followed with a distinct lack of spring, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor.

Ginny and Hermione stood chatting over an impressive array of bowls and platters, waving their wands in lazy patterns that sent spoons stirring and scooping all over the kitchen. Ron ducked a ceramic bowl, which just narrowly missed the top of his head, catching a saucy wink from Ginny as he straightened back up. Married or not, she was still an absolute brat of a witch.

Harry nudged him on the arm, handing him a freshly opened butterbeer and jerking his head toward the living room. Ron followed with haste, once again narrowly avoiding a serving platter that, given the complex acrobatic turn it performed just as it whizzed past his shoulder, was probably sent by Hermione.

Harry sat on the very edge of an armchair, absolutely vibrating with energy. Ron felt tired just looking at him. He collapsed onto the couch next to Harry's chair, stretching out one foot to thunk onto the coffee table, a position he was only able to achieve while the wives were out of the room. Harry didn't give a kneazles' arse if Ron put his feet on the furniture.

He took a swig of his drink, savoring the sweet bubbles that tickled the roof of his mouth. He felt his spine relax slightly, some of the tension from the mountain of worry he carried in his gut melting away into the couch.

"Seriously, mate, what's on your mind? You look so low I feel like I should dig you out of the ground and fling you like a gnome."

Ron gave an obligatory smile at Harry's words, taking another swig.

"Nothing much, really. S'just been a bit of a long month."

Harry nodded, throwing his head back and finishing up his drink. Ron looked at his own, still more than half full. Harry was really tossing them back tonight. Just as Ron noticed, Harry stood up like he had been the victim of one of George's patented "Arse-Sparkers".

"I need another drink, want one, Ron?"

Ron shook his head, but Harry was already gone. He let his head fall back against the couch. If Hermione turned him down tonight ... he didn't know what he would do. It felt like he had reached a breaking point or something. Like he just might explode into a thousand pieces if he couldn't touch her, hold her skin to skin and feel her breath against his cheek, hear her gasp his name in just _that_ way. Torture, this was. Lying next to her at night with the warm weight of her body pressed against his, her beautiful face relaxed in sleep.

His head snapped up as she walked into the room, carrying a serving bowl.

"Come and sit, Ron, Ginny's finished setting the table."

Her lips tightened slightly as he removed his foot from the table to stand, but she didn't say anything. Thank Merlin.

Dinner was easy enough to get through; he just concentrated on his plate and nodded when it seemed appropriate. Ginny carried most of the conversation, though he noticed a tiny bit of a maniacal edge to her endless chatter. Eventually Harry laid his hand on her arm and moved her fork to her plate, where her food sat largely undisturbed. Ron saw a stern look pass from husband to wife before Ginny finally took a bite, bathing the dinner table in a moment of blissful quiet.

He was polishing off his second plate before everyone finished, Harry and Ginny waving away Hermione's offer to clean up. Ginny led the way back to the living room where Harry appeared moments later bearing a chilled bottle of champagne, three glasses, and a ridiculous smile on his face.

Hermione gripped his arm tightly, her eyes suddenly open very wide. Ron could tell that she was keying in on something just over his head. It was a familiar sensation.

Harry put the bottle and glasses down on the table before wrapping his arm around Ginny's waist, pulling her close to his side. Ron slowly brought his hand up to wrap around the one Hermione had attached to his bicep in an iron grip. The feel of her hand beneath his sent a wave of calm throughout his body.

The Potters', however, seemed to have reached a peak in the energetic frenzy he had been sensing from them all night. They stood perfectly still, but Ron felt as though he could blink and they would be flying around the ceiling. Harry might possibly burst through the ceiling, actually.

Harry looked down into Ginny's eyes, the raw intimacy of the moment making Ron want to cringe a bit. Then he found himself staring into green eyes, glittering feverishly behind slightly askew glasses.

"Ron, Hermione, we wanted the two of you to be the first to know. Ginny and me ... we're having a baby!"

Hermione squealed at a pitch that set Ron's ears ringing, her grip on his arm tightening to the point of pain before she released him to fling herself at Ginny, the resulting cacophony of painfully high pitched screaming battering his poor abused ears.

Once again he was left to stare into his best friend's eyes, watching a tiny flicker of doubt emerge behind the glimmering joy that had been obnoxiously obvious all day. That flicker jolted him into action, grabbing Harry by the shoulder to pull him into his chest, pounding him awkwardly on the back to disguise the embarrassing rush of emotion in the moment.

A baby.

He released Harry with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, sending the smaller man stumbling over to his tear-streaked wife. Ginny looked ... awful. Her hair was falling out of whatever she had used to fasten it to the back of her head, her face was blotchy and wet with tears, and she appeared to have begun a rather nasty round of hiccups. Yet, inexplicably, somehow all of these things combined could not disguise the sense of ... of absolute beauty that emanated from her in waves. The strange sensation reminded him a bit of the softly pulsing light of his deluminator, actually.

Ron zeroed in on Hermione's hands, which were now reverently molding to Ginny's belly as if she were holding a holy artifact or something. Now that he knew to look more closely, he could see a distinct swelling there, like a balloon had been inflated beneath Ginny's usually flat, athletic stomach. It was a bit unnerving, to tell the truth, and it opened up a heretofore-unexplored niche deep inside of him.

He ... wanted that. He wanted to watch Hermione swell with his child, to make her cry and hiccup and glow like this. No, he _needed_ it. Not now, not tomorrow, but someday.

She looked up unexpectedly, catching his eye, and in those glossy depths he saw an echo of this new ... thing inside of him. She wanted it, too. More importantly, she wanted it with him.

Something warm and liquid began to curl around his chest, thawing out the pieces that had been slowly freezing over the past few weeks, bringing a light back into his heart that he had not even realized was almost extinguished. Something much deeper than want flickered in Hermione's eyes before she looked away, turning from Ginny to leap into Harry's arms, peppering the lucky sod with tearful kisses.

Ginny walked up to him, throwing her arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest. He brought his hand up to pat the top of her head, just as he had done when they were little. This earned a giggly hiccup as she released him, looking very directly into his eyes.

"You won't be an arse, will you? You'll be nice to Harry?"

Ron scoffed loudly, pretending offense.

"Course I will. Or won't. Depending on which bit I'm supposed to answer."

She hit him lightly on the stomach, hiccupping again as she turned to sit in the armchair, Harry immediately rushing to her side as if she were about to give birth at any moment. His solicitous murmuring and haste to add a throw pillow behind her back made Ron want to gag.

Hermione sat on the couch and he decided to join her, putting his arm casually around her shoulder in a way she had not tolerated for weeks, his fingers tracing light circles on the exposed skin of her arm. Alright, so perhaps he could understand Harry's manic attention to his wife. Merlin knew, if it were Hermione in that position, he would be carrying her around rather than allow her feet to touch the floor. He chanced a sideways look at her face. Provided she allowed him to disallow her, of course.

Harry settled onto the arm of Ginny's chair, sending a warm smile to his friends.

"You'll have my back, won't you, Ron? When we tell the family? Ginny claims I shouldn't worry, but telling all of your brothers at once ... it could get ugly."

His spreading grin belied the serious tone of his words, releasing an answering grin to split across Ron's face in return.

"We'll just have to see, won't we? What's in it for me, Potter? I've got a bit of paperwork that needs doing if you're keen to earn my support."

Hermione pinched his thigh, making him jump slightly before rejoicing in the fact that she had just touched him mere inches away from where he most desperately desired her touch.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron. Of course you'll have our full support, the both of you."

Ginny said something thankful, but Ron wasn't listening as something clicked inside his head.

"Wait. Ginny. You haven't told Mum?"

Everyone slowly turned to look at him as if he had just escaped from St. Mungo's.

"No, like I said, Ron, Harry insisted that we tell the pair of you before anyone else."

Ron's eyes widened as he sucked in a deep breath.

"Crups on a cracker, Ginny! Don't you realize what you've done! You haven't told Mum only the most important news of your entire bloody life, and now you've brought us into it! We're all effing done for!"

Hermione pinched him again, hard. Only this time there was no room for celebration as the full weight of Ginny's decision hit him. Mum was going to be beside herself. Bloody Hell, this could get worse than both of their weddings had been, combined!

"You know he doesn't mean it. We're both very honored that you would even consider telling us first, extremely honored! Oh, Harry I just-I-"

Then, like a blocked pipe that had been building up pressure, she started to cry. Not sweet little tears of joy, but great honking sobs barely muffled by her hands pressed to her face. Ron drew back a tiny bit, to look accusingly at Harry, but the prat just shrugged his shoulders like he had had nothing to do with it. Ginny looked a bit like she wanted to cry too, and Harry was soon occupied with patting her hand and whispering something into her ear that Ron was eternally grateful he could not overhear.

He turned to Hermione, gathering her tight against his side and pressing his lips to the top of her head. He hated it when she cried, absolutely hated it. The excruciating helplessness that came over him whenever she burst into tears was the absolute worst sensation. He would rather fight off a flock of dementors than watch her cry like this.

She spoke in painful bursts between sobs, pressing her words into his shoulder.

"I'm-so-sorry-everyone! It's-just-all-so-wonderful!"

A fresh spate of tears accompanied her last word, making Ron's chest tighten unbearably. He framed her face with his hands, letting her tears rush over his thumbs in tiny rivers, meeting her red-rimmed gaze with determination.

He leaned in, for a moment forgetting their audience of two, the room narrowing to include only this woman. His woman. He pressed his lips to hers, tasting her tears and feeling a slight rush of breath as she gave a tiny gasp, pushing back at him while her hands came up to cup the back of his head. He started to scoot closer, moving her back against the arm of the couch.

"Oi! No sense in you lot trying to keep up with us now, seeing as we've already captured the snitch!"

Ron jerked back his head to glare at Ginny, the glint in her eye making him smile involuntarily. Harry was blushing slightly, but Ron could see that their hands were closely intertwined.

Hermione sat up very straight, her hands going immediately to her hair like they always did when they were caught snogging. Her tears seemed to have been forgotten, and she now wore a polite smile on her face, clearing her throat softly.

"Do you know whether it will be a boy or girl?"

Harry and Ginny exchanged a significant look, which ended with Ginny nodding ever so slightly. Harry seemed to take that as a cue and turned back to his friends.

"Not just yet, but we have an appointment with her Healer tomorrow, and we should find out then. Would you like for us to let you know once we're sure?"

Hermione's frantic nodding would have been comical if it weren't so endearing. Ron could tell that this baby was going to be very important to her. He hoped that Ginny was prepared to receive a giant's share of well-researched advice. He'd be willing to bet a hundred galleons that by the end of the week their bookshelves would be swollen with pregnancy books.

Harry's grin nearly split his face in two as he popped open the champagne with a tap of his wand, rounding off the rather eventful evening with a toast to the future.

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**Thanks for reviewing!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm not J.K. Rowling and I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! **

**I may post the next chapter today as well, since this one is so short.  
**

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... Chapter 3...

They had to do something about these walls.

Honestly, she expected better quality in a flat. The least they could provide were walls that had the common decency to remain perfectly still at all times. None of this wobbling about nonsense.

Ron's hands were steady on her waist as he guided her down the hallway to the bedroom, mumbling bits of advice as they went along.

"Watch the plant, love. Neville wouldn't be too pleased with us if we took to walking on it."

She turned her head quickly, instantly regretting the motion as her stomach lurched with vertigo.

"Don' be-don't be ridiculous, Ron."

He nodded solemnly, steering her around an unexpected end table.

Terribly unfair, really. The way he seemed quite capable of navigating the twists and turns of their modest flat without even needing a moment to orient himself.

He pulled her to a stop in the bedroom, leaving her swaying in the middle of the rug while he shut the door softly. She reached out casually to grasp one of the bedposts, staggering slightly as it appeared to be located a good foot away from where she had originally thought it to be.

That would have to be addressed as well. Wouldn't do at all, having furniture that moved about the place. It was rather dismaying, actually.

Warm hands slid around her sides to link over her stomach. Solid hands, attached to a solid body that pressed right up behind her. He was steady as a rock, anchoring her in place, providing a much-needed counterpoint to her unbalanced state of mind. She rolled her head back against his chest, smiling up into his eyes.

Her very favorite shade of blue, framed by tiny fanning lines, a sure sign that her husband was struggling to contain laughter. He leaned forward to brush his lips across her forehead before spinning her around, leaving her head reeling as her lifted her onto the bed, kneeling on the floor to attack the tiny buckles fastening the delicate straps of her shoes.

Visions of mangled footwear danced in her head, bringing her sitting upright to stop his hands, grasping them in hers.

"That isn't necessary. I do not requile-req-requi-I don't want help."

This time he did laugh, throwing back his head as he plopped down onto his arse, so deeply overcome with laughter that soon he was forced to drag his arm across his eyes to wipe away the tears.

He held his arms out wide indicating her prostrate form and still firmly fastened shoes.

"Go on, then. I'd be more than happy to sit back and watch the show."

She tossed her head, sending hairpins scattering across the room, pinging metallically as they hit various pieces of furniture and rolled to the floor. With extreme care, she leaned slowly forward and gingerly picked at each strap until it was released from the buckle. Finishing one shoe, she set it carefully down on the bed beside her, gasping as the other shoe flew from her foot to join it. She jerked up her head to find Ron standing over her with his wand in hand, his eyes burning with something quite different from laughter.

"You were taking too long."

She nodded vaguely, watching his eyes run across her exposed length of leg. In the process of removing her shoe she seemed to have bunched up her skirt somewhere in the vicinity of her waist. She started to reach behind her for the zip, nearly toppling off of the bed sideways.

"Watch it there, Hermione, you'll be black 'n blue by morning, rate you're going."

He turned her gently away from him, opening her dress and pulling it off over her head. He even popped open the clasp of her bra and she let it fall into her lap before flopping back against the pillows, clad only in her sensible knickers.

His eyes were frankly appreciative on her body as he removed his own clothing, moving to lie beside her on the bed, his fingers trailing softly across the skin of her belly. She shivered, the tiny hairs on her skin raising in awareness, seeking out his touch.

Her arms felt awkward as she moved to wrap them around him, heavy and stiff as if from disuse. He sighed into the crook of her shoulder as she finally succeeded in holding him, pulling him flush against her side. He radiated heat like an electric blanket. She wondered idly if Mr. Weasley had one of those in his collection...

"Mmm, missed you."

Ron spoke into her neck, pressing tiny kisses along her skin. Her eyes, which had been drooping sleepily, blinked slowly open. She turned to catch the corner of his mouth with her lips. He paused for a moment before opening his lips over hers, bathing them in the warm silk of his mouth. She had missed him, too.

...

Ron almost felt like a teenager again, snogging his wife on the bed like this. He knew it was likely to end with snogging, since Hermione had slightly overdone it with the champagne. She and Harry had been hanging on each other's shoulders, crying and laughing and making big pronouncements of things they would do for each other. He wondered if she would remember her promise to babysit at the drop of the hat when she woke up tomorrow.

"Ron?"

He pulled back reluctantly, giving her mouth enough space to speak. Shame that she wanted to use it for talking, when he could think of so many much nicer uses for it. Starting with going right back to snogging him...

"What do you s'po-suppose the baby will turn out to be? A boy or a girl?"

He suppressed a grin at the way she was so carefully pronouncing her words. There was nothing funnier to him than a wasted Hermione. The more intoxicated she became, the more slow and careful she was with words, giving each one a ridiculous amount of attention and emphasis. He kissed her on the cheek before falling back against his pillow, tossing her bra to the floor when it dug into his side and gathering her against him.

"It will be a boy, I reckon."

Hermione's hair tickled his nose and he idly began pulling out hairpins as she tilted her neck to look at him.

"Why do you think it will be a boy? I s'po-s'po-I guess that you and Harry would not be content with a mere girl-child, would you?"

Ron shook his head, gathering an inconceivable amount of pins in his hand. She must have put hundreds into her hair, to tame it so thoroughly. She was always so funny about her hair, wanting it to stay flat and even against her head. He much preferred it in its natural state, wild and free and curling around her face.

"It isn't that. It's just that, well, Ginny's a Weasley, isn't she? She can't help but have a boy. That's just the way we work, Weasleys. S'got some sort of old magic to it or somethin'."

Hermione humphed against his chest, her hair now completely free of pins and curling all over the place. He thought some of it was trying to attack his ears. She shifted to lay on top of him as he stretched out his arm to deposit the mountain of hairpins onto his nightstand. He swallowed as the soft pressure of her breasts against him caused a much harder pressure lower down.

"Well, I believe that Ginny will prove you wrong, the pair of you. It will be a girl, mark my words."

Ron looked into her eyes, the lids drooping with an adorable combination of intoxication and exhaustion. Then, unexpectedly, a tiny seed of an idea was planted in his mind, growing stronger and better formed with every beat of his heart.

"Care to bet on that?"

She nodded heavily, her head lolling like it may fall off of her shoulders at any moment. He felt a momentary twinge of guilt for taking advantage of her when she was in such a state, but then he considered the way they had been going for more than a month and all traces of guilt were banished, replaced by steely determination.

"Alright, what would you win if it turns out to be a boy? Not that such a possibility has even the remonest-remo-re- slightest chance of occurring."

His heart picked up speed, hammering against the walls of his chest as he considered his prize, the one thing he wanted above anything else, a chance to save their relationship. To show her what they had been missing all this time.

"I would want you to do anything I ask, whenever I ask it, for the remainder of the week."

Her brow furrowed as she considered this, her fingers tracing the pattern of freckles that crested his right shoulder. Eventually she seemed to reach some sort of conclusion and nodded carefully, the act obviously requiring an inordinate amount of focus.

"I see. Well then, in that case I would ask the same of you, were I to win. Which I will."

She settled in beside him, sighing deeply as her eyes closed with a sense of finality, dashing any hopes he may have held for continued snogging. Which were quite a lot of hopes, actually. An entire herd of them.

"Mmm. Maybe this way I can finally get the flat cleaned."

Her words trailed off with a yawn as she burrowed into his side. Far sooner than was usual, her soft snoring reached his ears within minutes, bringing a smile to his face. He ran his hand over her hair, letting the wild locks curl around his fingertips like living silk.

She may have nothing more than a thorough flat-cleaning in mind, but he had far more entertaining plans for his winnings. He just hoped that his gut feeling turned out to be more than indigestion. If this baby didn't turn out to be a boy ... well, he may just have to strangle Harry for messing up the Weasley pattern. He was really counting on it.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Well, I decided to go ahead and post the next chapter. I'm still not J.K. Rowling and I still don't own anything Harry Potter.**

**Thank you everyone who reviewed!  
**

* * *

...Chapter 4...

Hermione went through her day in an absolute fog, having to go over her papers more than once to simply comprehend the meaning of the words.

She had taken a stiff sober-up potion first thing this morning, handed to her by a slightly smirking Ron, but the potion had done little to clear her head.

Her thoughts were jumbled into disordered piles, forcing her to sift through the mess before stringing coherent sentences together. She knew she had over-imbibed last night, but this appeared to be much more than that. This appeared to be the culmination of months of mounting stress. She hated to admit it, but she really needed to cut down on her workload. With a heartfelt sigh, she made an appointment with her superior to address the issue.

...

Ron lifted his head as Hermione walked into the kitchen, dropping her briefcase with a heavy thud onto the floor. She was usually much more careful with her belongings, so he supposed that she was still suffering the effects of last night. Merlin knew Harry had been useless for the half day he had put in at work, spending most of his time staring off into space with a lackwitted smile on his face. Though perhaps that was due more to his status as father to be than an overabundance of champagne in his system.

He had skipped off right before lunch, thumping Ron on the shoulder as he left with a promise to bring Ginny round for dinner.

"No champagne tonight though, mate. Ginny might think I'm developing bad habits!"

Ron had laughed and nodded, his mind occupied with swirling visions of what exactly he could do with his winnings when the results came through ... the possibilities were endless, really. He had said 'anything', she would do anything he asked, whenever he asked it. He could ask for anything he wanted and ... Merlin's beard but he wanted.

Hermione blew out a loud breath as she slumped in her chair at their tiny kitchen table, tossing her jacket over the back without bothering to fold it properly. She really was dragging, then. It simply wasn't like her to throw things about without regard to appearances. Granted, she didn't yet know they were expecting company for dinner, but still...

"Harry and Ginny are coming round after their Healer's appointment. I think they expect us to feed them or something, the rotten little leaches."

She didn't even crack a smile, instead groaning loudly as she pressed her forehead against the tabletop. He waited for a few moments, but she seemed quite content in her position with no obvious intentions of moving anytime soon. He cleared his throat loudly as he turned to rummage through the pantry.

"I'll just throw something together for us, shall I? Think Harry would mind spaghetti and meatballs? I think I've still got some of those frozen ones you brought home from the Muggle Stuplemarket. "

"SUPER-market"

Her words were muffled by the cheery red and white checked tablecloth which she had insisted on covering their table. Ron had thought it would just accumulate stains, but like with most things in the flat, he had eventually given in.

"Pardon?"

She raised her head, rubbing her temples with her fingers as she moved to stand beside him and peer into the pantry.

"It's called a Supermarket, and I would have greatly appreciated you and Harry consulting with me before making dinner plans. I could have swung by the store on my way home, but neither of you had bothered to notify me or anything, I haven't even had a chance to-"

"Hermione."

He moved her hands out of the way so that he could massage her temples, feeling her relax slightly under his ministrations.

"Go on and sit for a minute, read that book you've been dying to get into or something. I can handle a simple pasta meal. Besides, if Ginny and Harry don't like it, they can kiss my arse."

She turned to look up at him with her face creased in concern.

"Should Ginny be eating pasta at this stage in her pregnancy? I'm afraid that I haven't gotten a chance to read up on it. I had meant to stop by the library this evening, but now I-"

He steered her into the living room, depositing her in her favorite chair.

"I'm sure Ginny can eat whatever she wants. Why, Harry told me today that she's been having pickled beet and egg sandwiches for breakfast every other morning. I don't think that a bit of spaghetti is likely to put her off."

Hermione gave him a rather doubtful look but she did fetch her book with a wave of her wand, again showing Ron just how tired she really was. Normally she preferred to perform little tasks like that the muggle way, dismissing using one's wand for every little thing as 'pure unadulterated laziness!'.

Ron faded back into the kitchen, trying to muffle the clunking of pots and pans as he made their dinner, throwing a few extra meatballs in for Ginny as he recalled Harry's outlandish descriptions of her increased appetite. He didn't want to be fighting a pregnant woman over the last meatball, after all. Hermione would probably frown at that, and Harry was just unstable enough that he could get challenged to a bloody duel or something. Over a meatball.

The doorbell chimed after another hour or so, Ron had frankly lost track of time as he had hit a few snags in his meal preparation. Apparently his wand skills needed a bit of practice when it came to chopping. The knife had gone right through the cutting board, throwing bits of wood in with the onions and forcing Ron to spend a great deal of time fishing out the splinters from the sauce. His fingers were still stained with red.

He heard Hermione greeting their friends and wiped his hands on a cloth before poking his head out of the kitchen to peer at the new arrivals.

"Hang on, Harry, I'll be out in a tick, I just need to put the top on this and grab a couple of butterbeers. Would you like anythin' to drink Hermione? Ginny?"

They both shook their heads, Hermione with a look of comical distaste, and he dashed back into the kitchen to make good on his word.

Carrying the opened butterbeers, he walked into the living room with a decided spring in his step, anxious to hear the news. He still had that gut feeling that told him he was on the right track, but Merlin knew that he had been wrong before. Hermione had a rather detestable habit of always being right. It was dashed hard to live with.

He handed Harry his drink before going to sit on the arm of Hermione's chair, facing the Potters on the couch. It struck him as a bit funny to realize that their positions were exactly reversed from how they had begun the previous evening. Funny though it may be, he was far from laughter as his stomach knotted in anticipation. He had to know if he had won. He took a sip of his drink and stared expectantly at Harry, willing him to say something to the effect of 'Don't worry, Ron, it's a boy, you were right for once in your bloody life.' Yeah, that would do rather nicely.

"Well? Out with it!"

Everyone jumped a bit at his exclamation, Hermione turning in her seat to send him a quelling glance punctuated with lowering eyebrows. He was always very aware of her eyebrows, as she used the bloody things just like punctuation marks, emphasizing her words and feelings so he was left with little doubt of where he stood in her estimation. Unfortunately, that appeared to be rather low at the moment.

Ginny giggled a bit as she rested her hand on her stomach, nudging Harry with her elbow.

"Go on then, Harry, we mustn't leave them in suspense."

Harry stood, holding his beer out to clink against Ron's, the smile on his face lighting up the whole room like a flaming torch.

"Here's to my-to our first child, a _son_!"

Ron stood with a whooping shout, clapping Harry soundly on the back and spilling his butterbeer with his exuberance. Then he pulled a laughing Ginny to her feet to swing her in a wide circle, narrowly missing the coffee table. She backed away as soon as he released her, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes and holding her belly.

"Careful Ron, you don't want me to have it right here on your living room rug!"

Harry was instantly at her side, a look of absolute terror on his face while Hermione leapt to her feet, announcing her intentions of fetching the Healer immediately. Ginny fended them off admirably, claiming that Harry had lost his sense of humor and the only people Hermione needed to call was Chinese takeout, since she doubted the edibility of Ron's cooking.

Everyone seemed to calm down a bit, settling into an enjoyable dinner. Ron even let Ginny have that last meatball without a fight. He could sacrifice one meatball for the baby that had just helped him win his bet. That baby was going to be absolutely brilliant, with a start like this!

Hermione walked them to the door, waving them off with a cheery goodbye and promises to stop by later in the week. Ginny even gave her one of her pregnancy books to look through, well aware that Hermione was about to go deep into research mode on her behalf.

Ron was completely ecstatic. He had won. _He_ had _won_. And that meant ... that meant that she would do anything he wanted. His thoughts grew increasingly lascivious as he watched her walk back into the kitchen to start the cleanup. He loved the way her work skirts molded to her backside when she walked, just the way his hands longed to.

He walked up behind her, putting his hands on her hips but refraining from pressing himself against her bum until he got a read on her mood. He had certainly learned his lesson from previous experience with a cranky Hermione. When she was in a rotten mood, she would not tolerate any randiness from him. He leaned his chin on her head, unable to resist a bit of a gloat.

"So it's going to be a boy, then."

She nodded with a mumbled something about "as long as it's healthy...". He waited for further acknowledgement of her defeat but none was forthcoming.

"So that means that I've won, then."

Well. So much for subtlety. George was always telling him that he was about as subtle as a troll's club, anyway.

Hermione turned to look at him in bewilderment, a tiny cluster of soap bubbles clinging to her cheek.

"What have you won, precisely?"

Ron was completely flabbergasted. She had ... forgotten? He had been dreaming about this moment all day and it had simply slipped her mind. He wanted to roar with frustration.

"The bet. Our bet, on whether it would turn out to be a boy or a girl. I've won."

She looked vague for a moment before something sharpened in her eyes and they snapped to his.

"You were ... serious about that?"

He nodded vigorously, holding his breath and hoping against hope that she wouldn't back out of it now that he'd won. He had a plan unfolding in his head, which if he could manage to pull off with halfway decent results, could very well make this the best week of his life. She said nothing more, and so he rushed to seal the deal.

"You aren't going to try and wiggle out of it now, are you? I would have kept to it, if I'd lost. Which I didn't. 'Cause I won."

She rolled her eyes, muttering something that sounded like 'mature' under her breath. Ron didn't care. She could call him a goblin's toenail as long as she acknowledged his victory.

Sighing deeply, she turned back to the sink to attack the dishes with renewed vigor.

"Alright, I concede defeat. You win the bet, Ron, congratulations. As you can see, I'm already cleaning up from dinner so you may as well go do whatever it is you'd rather be doing than the dishes. Which I imagine is basically anything, knowing you."

Ron stared at the back of her head for a moment, just letting bits of his new plan click into place. There were a few holes left still, but he'd work those out as he came to them. He had a good bit of experience with that kind of thinking on his feet, now that he was an Auror.

He shut off the water with his wand, getting a startled squeak out of his wife before she turned around to glare at him, arms akimbo. He rushed to speak before she could say anything. She looked like she wanted to give him a piece of her mind, and, with a mind like Hermione's, even a piece was often too much to take.

"I think you should leave the dishes. We'll get to them tomorrow or something."

The look of horror on her face was absolutely priceless. One would think, to look at her, that he had just requested she toss a newborn baby out the window. Oh, he was really going to enjoy this week.

"But-no. No, Ron! You know I can't sleep if there's a mess to be dealt with! Just let me tidy up a bit and-"

He pulled her to him with an arm around her waist, planting a kiss on her mouth, which remained hanging open in distress.

"You have to do anything I say, remember? An' I say leave the bloody dishes."

She just stared at him, completely incredulous for the space of a minute before flinging up her hands, narrowly missing his nose, and stalking out of the room.

Well. That had not gone quite as he had planned. She was supposed to melt into his arms and forget about all of the stupid little things that had been building up lately, dragging her down. He was sick of it, sick of the stress and the rowing and the absolute drought destroying their sex life.

This week, he had a chance. A chance to change things, to make her see the way they could be, if only they'd try. All they needed to do was remember, really, remember how it had been in the beginning.

He hadn't forgotten, not a bit of it. He remembered sleepless nights spent exploring each other's bodies and being absolutely worthless at work because they couldn't wait to get home and start again.

It could be like that now. There was no reason it shouldn't be, really. He'd just have to surprise her with it, shock her into remembering, into igniting that flame that was still burning, buried beneath the minutia of day-to-day life.

He'd give her tonight to get some sleep, if things went as planned tomorrow, they'd be needing the extra rest.

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	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own anything Harry Potter, and I'm not J.K. Rowling.**

**Just a reminder: there are eight chapters total, but from this chapter on it is definitely an M rated fic.**

**Thank you everyone who reviewed!  
**

* * *

...Chapter 5...

Hermione struggled to concentrate on the papers in front of her. She had a big presentation after lunch, and this was the first chance she'd gotten to really prepare properly. Unfortunately, there was something niggling at the corner of her mind, shattering her concentration.

Ron had been ... different this morning. Harry and Ginny's news had really cheered him up, and he seemed to have emerged from the funk he had been indulging in for the past few weeks. She felt a little crestfallen that she hadn't been the one to put the skip back in his step, but at least he was happy again.

She had hoped, in a secret little corner of her heart, that he was going to use his silly little bet to get into her knickers. It was a foolish thing for her to expect of him, of course. They were married, after all. It wasn't like he needed an excuse for a shag.

Hmm. They really needed to address that, hopefully tonight he'd get home at a decent hour and they could finally ... reconcile their differences, or whatever it was that had been keeping them apart for so long.

As if her wayward thoughts had summoned him, Ron appeared in her office, stepping casually out of her renovated fireplace. The cocky lopsided grin on his face really took her back, to a time when everything was so much fresher, more urgent. When they had stolen every second they could get, just to be near each other.

She would do anything for that grin, and he knew it.

She stood to walk around her desk and greet him, papers forgotten. He received her peck on the cheek with a soft laugh she could feel all the way down to her toes, the warmth of it curling like a contented cat in her chest.

Without a word to her he flicked his wand at the door, shutting and locking it in one motion. Then he muttered a silencing spell on the room, ignoring her look of confusion. Her initial sense of giddy anticipation immediately crumbled into panic as she wondered what could have earned such secrecy. She grabbed his arm tightly, forcing him to meet her eyes, preparing for the worst.

"What is it? What's happened? Is it Harry? Is it-oh God, Ron, is it _Ginny_!"

His eyes were blank for a second before shining with amusement as he shook his head. Her entire being melted with relief before straightening back up in curiosity.

The amusement began to disappear from his eyes, burning away in the flames of something much hotter, much deeper than mere humor. Her stomach flipped over with renewed anticipation. Perhaps her hopes regarding the bet were not entirely unfounded, perhaps-

His hands engulfed the back of her skull as he pressed her body against the desk with his, holding her gaze for a scorching moment before dipping his head to catch her lips.

This.

This was ... why had they not been doing this, again? At least once a day? They should have a quota. She would draw up a chart after her presentation and they could...

Her presentation!

She pushed back against him, earning a growl of discontent as he released her lips with a tiny bite that set all of her nerves on fire.

"I'm sorry, Ron, but I can't do this just at the moment, you see I-"

But he was already back, his lips sliding like warm satin against hers, his breath on her cheek sending her heart into overtime, beating like a ticking time bomb in her chest.

He shoved her papers to one side, his hands sliding around her bottom, kneading roughly as he sat her on the desk. He stepped in close, wedging himself between her legs, forgetting to be gentle. He was always that way, when they waited too long between shags. This time ... it had really been too long.

She had a flash of concern for her suit skirt as he shoved it up to her hips, but then his mouth was on her throat and worry over clothing was simply a thought process her brain no longer performed. It was far too busy sorting out the barrage of sensations and memories and love that was her husband.

She buried one of her hands beneath his shirt, the other creeping down to hold onto his arse, keeping him pressed tightly against her. Her actions seemed to inspire his hands to wander, sliding up the front of her blouse to cup her breasts possessively before plucking at their tips, making her gasp as sparks went off all over her body.

Suddenly she was an aching void and he was everything she needed to be whole again. She didn't bother with his shirt, instead attacking his belt as he leaned her back over the desk, bumping her head on something painfully brick-like.

The clock.

She gasped loudly, Ron pushing harder between her thighs as he mistook her meaning. She got up on one elbow, shoving insistently against the center of his chest until he leaned back, panting.

"Wait! I can't-I'm sorry, but as much as I _want_ to, I really can't. I have an important presentation in less than an hour!"

His eyes burned right through her, something dark flashing in their depths, sending a liquid shiver down her spine. One of his long fingers trailed down the buttons of her blouse as he opened his mouth to speak. His voice was low and gravelly, as if he hadn't spoken in a long while.

"An' what if I asked you to? What if it was one of my demands?"

He leaned in, his voice rasping so softly in her ear she almost felt rather than heard him.

"Would you do it then?"

She closed her eyes as he drew back, nodding very slowly. She was almost hoping that he would do just that, so she would at least have an excuse for her extremely unprofessional conduct.

She opened her eyes as he stepped back slightly, allowing her to sit up the rest of the way. He didn't retreat very far, remaining standing between her legs, his fingers making tiny circles behind her knees as he watched her silently.

He sighed deeply, resting his forehead against hers and screwing his eyes tightly shut. After a moment he pulled back, nodding sharply and opening his eyes to spear her with an impossibly direct, impossibly blue gaze.

"Right. I'll just have your knickers, then."

She furrowed her brow in a moment of confusion ... he wanted her... oh! Oh no, she couldn't... Her eyes stretched wide as a wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes twinkling with unholy laughter. She remained perfectly still until he crossed his arms loosely over his chest, jerking his chin in the direction of her knickers.

"Now, if you please. Haven't got all day, you know!"

She pleaded with him with her eyes, her pitiful look having no visible effect on him. He just stood there looking amused and expectant and... just ridiculously sexy. He hadn't bothered to fuss with his hair, and it stood up in messy clumps from her rough handling. His shirt was hanging half out of his trousers and it was just... rather unfair of him, to stand there looking like that. He opened his mouth but she spoke over him, her voice holding a tiny edge of hysteria.

"But I've told you, I have a presentation in under an hour!"

He tilted his head to the side, looking skeptical.

"...and you've written it on your knickers?"

She paused for a moment in confusion, shaking her head until she spied the devilish glint in his eye, his amusement at her expense making her bristle with indignation.

"No, of course not, don't be ridiculous!"

He uncrossed his arms, slapping his hands down on either side of her legs before leaning in until their lips were not more than three breaths apart, his voice once again dropping to the soft rasp she heard in her dreams.

"So you won't be needing them, then."

That time bomb in her chest was going to go off any second now, she was sure. His hands delved beneath her skirt, his fingers hooking onto the sides of her knickers. He pressed his mouth behind her ear, his lips moving on her skin.

"Give over."

She lifted her hips as he pulled down, allowing him to slide the soft fabric down to her knees before he knelt on the floor to pull them off of her legs, careful to remove each foot with her heels still on.

He stayed there for a moment, pressing the bunched fabric to his face and inhaling deeply, causing heat to prickle over her skin. She wasn't sure if she was blushing more from embarrassment or from the way his primitive reaction made her absolutely burn with want.

He stood slowly, shoving the knickers into his pocket as he left a lingering kiss on her lips.

"I'll be home early tonight."

His eyes held a note of pleading, desire still very close to the surface. She stood, giving a businesslike nod as she straightened out her clothing.

"That's good. I will try to do the same."

Now it was his turn to nod, flashing her one last lopsided grin before he simply turned and left just as casually as he had entered.

She collapsed into her chair, trying to control her labored breathing. She didn't care if she had to move mountains; she would definitely be making it home as early as possible.

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	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own Harry Potter, I'm not J. K. Rowling.**

**Sorry for the delay, here's the next chapter! Thanks to those who reviewed!**

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...Chapter 6...

He couldn't believe he'd gotten away with it.

He had actually managed to convince his wife to surrender her knickers, while she was still at work! Hiswife. It was a moment of bloody triumph, is what it was. He had been forced to spend a few minutes after returning to his office, just silently pressing his head against the wall and willing his body to stop shaking. He simply couldn't believe it.

Harry sighed loudly for the fourth time in an hour, bringing Ron's head up from where he had been pretending to read a report. His friend was staring at him, eyes just perched on the edge of a disgusted roll.

"I've called your name twice now, and you've been deaf as a post."

Ron shrugged, fighting the blush that he could feel encroaching on his neck as he released his hold on the scrap of fabric in his right trouser pocket.

He knew he'd been worthless, but he really couldn't help it. All he could think about was Hermione walking around work all day in her prim little skirt suit, with nothing on underneath. Just the thought of her soft thighs rubbing together, encased in nothing more than tailored wool, had him hard as bloody stone. He'd been glued to his desk since lunch, unwilling to walk around with a perpetual hard-on in front of his co-workers.

It was a bit like being fifteen again, unable to get up from his seat at the library because Hermione had been doing that thing with her tongue on the edge of her quill that made his insides shiver and his mind wander to forbidden areas.

No, it was exactly like that. Only now, there were no forbidden areas, because she wasn't just his friend, she was his wife. His mind was free to wander wherever it wanted, covering all sorts of fascinating scenarios and possibilities…

She was probably in her office right now, and maybe she needed a file or something from that massive wall of bookcases next to her desk. So she got on the rolling ladder and had to climb all the way to the top, and maybe he could stand right at the bottom and look straight up her skirt at her-

"That's it. Just leave, will you? You're ...I'll be honest mate, you're a bit embarrassing today."

Ron opened his mouth to try and apologize, but Harry held up a file like a shield in front of him.

"No, no, please don't explain anything to me! Just go home and leave the rest of us decent folk to get some bloody work done!"

Ron opened his mouth to ask what Harry was talking about, feign ignorance or something, but Harry countered with an exaggerated eye roll.

"Look, it's obvious your mind is ..._uh_... elsewhere, so seriously, go home."

With that he stood and walked out of the office they shared with exaggerated dignity, closing the door behind him.

Ron was a bit taken aback. He hadn't been quite that obvious, had he? Well, he had spent all day fiddling with her knickers, but surely Harry couldn't see that from over his desk?

He looked down at the report on his desk to discover that it was upside down, and relating to a case they had closed months ago. Perhaps he had been a bit obvious.

...

Hermione walked into the flat briskly, still riding the edge of urgent anticipation that had plagued her from the moment Ron had left her office.

She knew that she had probably confused her coworkers with her uncharacteristically distracted air. She had spent half of her presentation squirming and blushing, hoping that no one would guess the reason for her distraction. But she had gotten through it and received permission to proceed from her rather perplexed audience.

An extremely enticing aroma swirled beneath her nose as she carefully put her briefcase down, removing her jacket to hang on the hook. Mmm... it smelled like...

"I got takeout, hope that's alright with you. I tried to cook something, but it was too hard to concentrate...I think I may have burned some water, actually..."

Her husband stood in the archway to the kitchen, leaning one broad shoulder against the jamb with both hands shoved deep into his pockets. Just the sight of him lit up her nerve endings. She suppressed the urge to jump on him, taking a calming breath and folding her hands tightly behind her back.

"No, takeout is fine. It smells absolutely delicious."

A slow smile spread across his face, containing an entire wealth of secrets she would have to be blind to miss. Her face burned as he pulled her knickers out of his pocket, rubbing the fabric gently between his fingertips before crumpling them with his fist.

"Yeah, that's what I've been thinking all day."

She backed up instinctively as he stepped toward her, stopping herself before she ended up flat against the wall. She didn't want to look any more ludicrous than she already did.

The silk lining of her skirt brushed against unusually naked flesh, sending the blush on her face rising by a few impossible degrees.

He didn't stop until they stood toe to toe, raising his free hand to cup her chin. His blue eyes were dark with passion, a tinge of desperation rising to their surface.

With a small sound of surrender she lifted herself on her toes to kiss his chin, straining to bring her lips all the way up to his, just catching the fleshy edge of his bottom lip between hers. Strong arms came around her, hauling her up against him as he brought their lips together, brushing lightly before whispering her name and deepening the kiss.

She braced one hand against his shoulder, using the other to hold his head in place while she took inventory of every inch of his mouth with her lips, tongue, and teeth. This was no sweet welcome-home kiss. This kiss was a promise of things to come.

She struggled to wrap her legs around his waist, hampered by her tight wool skirt. She had just decided to settle for squeezing his hips with her knees when he shoved her skirt up roughly, groaning as his hands encountered nothing but naked flesh.

"Fuck, Hermione. Oh, love, I've been thinking about this all day. About you, and _this_. I couldn't think of anything else!"

His voice took on that husky tone that always meant she was in trouble. The kind of trouble she would give anything to find herself in. His hands kneaded her naked bum as he bumped her hard against the wall in his attempt to walk them to the bedroom.

She put one hand to the back of her head, meeting his sheepish eyes.

"Sorry about that."

She nodded, going immediately back to capture his lips, her hands already slipping the buttons of his shirt free.

He kicked open their bedroom door, nearly toppling them both to the carpet in the process, yet somehow managing to make it all the way to their bed, crushing her into the mattress with a quiet groan. She pulled his shirt off over his head, thrilling at the feel of his skin against the inner edge of her thighs.

The skin-to-skin contact seemed to have an electric effect on him, whipping him into an absolute frenzy.

The sound of silk ripping was only to be expected at this point, so she spared no energy mourning the demise of her second-best blouse. His open mouth forged a burning trail down the length of her throat as he muttered praises and promises into her skin, catching the edge of her bra in his teeth to drag the fabric down, exposing her to the cold air and his hot gaze.

She opened her mouth, prepared to beg, but he was already there, working her breasts with his tongue while urging his hips against her thigh. Just the feel of him against her left her liquid with desire, aching to have him inside, where he belonged.

Feeling bold, she told him exactly that, meeting his startled eyes as she ruthlessly went for his belt, pulling it free of his work trousers with a snap. His mouth worked silently like a goldfish for a few moments before he caught her hands against his zip, pulling them away from his body and up to the waist of her skirt.

"N-no, Mrs. Weasley, you're doing what I say tonight, and I want _you_ naked. Now."

While usually she would have pokered up at being told what to do, even in bed, his softly spoken command had just the opposite effect, making her positively melt for him. She stripped off her clothing in record speed, throwing them to the floor with abandon.

Finally she was just herself before him on the bed, any feelings of shyness or hesitation banished from her heart. This was how it was meant to be, for them. The look of adoration in his eyes was more than enough reward, the reverent touch of his fingertips on her skin nearly bringing tears to her eyes.

His eyelids dropped a bit as he drank her in, running his warm palms in broad circles over her flesh. She arched into his touch as he brushed calloused hands over her breasts, pushing them against his palms insistently. He leaned in for another kiss, forcing her mouth open wide with his wildly thrusting tongue, a sure sign that he was losing his grip on control.

The more Ron lost control, the more he used his mouth, which in her mind was not such a bad thing at all. In fact, it was a trait she had been incredibly thankful for on countless occasions. Like this one.

His mouth began to wander down the length of her torso, pausing to visit some of his favorite spots along the way. He nibbled at the dip beneath her collarbone, his tongue blazing a warm, wet trail across the peak of her breast, taking a moment to press the tight bud against the edge of his teeth and smiling into her skin as she squeaked in delight.

He traveled lower, dipping his tongue into her navel before nipping at the hollow of her hipbone, his breath growing more erratic as it battered against her skin in hot bursts.

She knew from experience that his little tour of her body was getting him as worked up as she was. If that was physically possible, anyway. She was nearly ready to jump out of her skin, if he couldn't manage to get on with it already.

As if he had heard her thoughts, he wiggled down to the foot of the bed, hauling her along with him with firm hands around her waist, stopping once his feet were braced on the floor and the top of his head hovered a few inches below her navel.

She held her breath as he bent her legs, bringing her feet almost level with his shoulders as he stared down at the slick center he had opened to his gaze. He kissed the soft fleshy bit at the inner edge of her thighs, a personal ritual of his she had come to cherish. It had begun as his way of asking her permission and over the years had become more of an open announcement of his intentions.

That breath she had been holding was ripped from her lungs in a keening cry as he dipped his head between her legs, glancing up at her through pale lashes. Somehow, just catching a glimpse of that shining edge of blue had a startling effect on her heart, making it leap about her chest in a frantic sort of dance, leaving her breathless and weak.

Breathless or not, she couldn't control the primitive sounds she made as he explored her with his mouth; sucking, nibbling, and teasing her to the point of madness. His talented lips and tongue performed a very well choreographed routine that brought her all the way to the edge once, twice, and then a third time before she dug both hands into his hair, pulling sharply with a punishing grip.

"Now, Ron!"

He moaned into her flesh, his hands lifting her hips to his face like she was a bowl of pudding he had thoroughly enjoyed and had every intention of licking clean. In only a few seconds she could feel her entire being contracting down to a tiny pinpoint before suddenly exploding outward to encompass the entire universe in one endless moment.

His kisses grew softer as he felt her come back to him, her hands relaxing in his hair. He took a brief moment to nuzzle his damp face against the curve of her belly before climbing up to her, the lanky frame of his body becoming the canopy of her world. Their eyes locked and suddenly there were no words, because a language had not been invented that could convey what their eyes were saying so eloquently.

She unfastened his trousers, pushing them down his hips until he kicked them off the rest of the way, finally, finally laying his naked skin against hers, the hot, hard length of him burning against her thigh.

She shifted so that the blunt tip of him rested right there, where the need for him had reached the point of pain. He hissed in his breath through his teeth, a hint of panic flooding the edges of his eyes as they remained locked with hers. She lifted her hips slightly, bringing him into her by just the tiniest bit. He closed his eyes and whispered her name like a prayer as he pressed all the way inside her, the sweet slide of him as welcome as sunshine after a hard winter.

This.

Now, this deserved its very own chart, separate from the snogging one she planned to work out later. She would have to-oh! Oh, that was nice.

She rotated her hips, urging him to do that again and earning a soft whimper as he clenched his jaw and gave her a pleading look, his voice strained as though it took great effort for him to speak at all.

"No! Please. Don't. Move."

He was the one teetering on the edge now, sweat breaking out along his forehead as a dark blush spread across his neck and chest. She loved making him this way, wild and desperate and just so very Ron, in all his naked glory. And he was truly glorious like this, his knuckles white as they clutched the pillow behind her head, his eyes nearly hidden by heavy lashes.

She smiled slowly, watching his eyes widen as he took in her expression, opening his mouth to beg her not to- she dug her heels into the mattress, bringing him another inch impossibly deeper as she circled her hips in just that way that always made him-

He buried his face into the crook of her neck as he drove into her, his hips jerking frantically as she felt that warm rush of him deep within her center. He held very still for a few moments afterward before biting her neck softly, growling into her skin.

" I told you not to..."

He pulled his head back, leaving their bodies touching from the chest down, apparently as unwilling as she was to be apart once more.

"Y'know, Hermione, you're supposed to be doing everything that I say."

She rolled her eyes, huffing loudly, amused as he winced from the motion of her body.

"I don't think that should count."

He pulled away from her, rolling to the side to toss her an incredulous look with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, that definitely counted."

He pulled her to lie across his chest, his skin still burning with the remainders of his blush beneath her cheek. His fingers drew lazy circles on her backside as they lay in contented silence, just catching their breath.

She had missed this too, this slow and quiet _after_ part, where they just lay together, remaining hidden within their cocoon for a few more moments before returning to reality.

After a while he sighed, running his fingers through her hair until they became hopelessly entangled in the mass of curls.

"Well, at least you've got most of a week to make it up to me."

She pushed up, blowing a hunk of hair out of her face.

"Most of a week? Your winnings are up by Sunday."

He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head ruefully.

"Nah, I said for a week, and you agreed to it, so there's no use trying to skive off now."

She shook her head slowly, adopting her 'explaining things to Ron' tone of voice.

"No, you explicitly said 'for the remainder of the week' which would only give you until midnight Saturday."

He sat up against the headboard, looking completely stricken.

"But-no-I... are you sure? You were more than a bit pissed at the time, as I recall."

She nodded, giving him a consoling look.

"I work with the law every day, Ron. I can promise you that even while intoxicated I would never confuse the terms of a verbal contract."

His eyes so closely resembled those of a depressed puppy that she had to suppress the urge to offer him an entire week of winnings. She had rather enjoyed his demands thus far, after all...

"You're right. As per fucking usual. Well, if I've only got one more day, I'm going to have to make it count."

With that, he kissed her on top of the head and climbed out of bed, sauntering out of the bedroom completely naked with his wand tucked under his arm.

She sat up, grabbing his shirt from the floor and throwing it around herself as she scrambled to follow.

She caught up to him in the kitchen, where he stood waving his wand over something on the countertop.

"What are you doing, Ron?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, pulling a face as he saw that she had covered herself.

"M'heating up our dinner. I'm bloody starving, aren't you?"

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	7. Chapter 7

**I do not own Harry Potter or the delightful characters therein, I am not J.K. Rowling.**

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**

* * *

...Chapter 7...

Something was tickling her nose.

She swatted at it, but it kept coming back again, irritating her awake. She opened her eyes to find her husband holding a lock of her own hair in front of her face, just barely grazing the end of her nose with it.

She batted his hand away, glancing at the clock with bleary eyes. It was highly unusual for Ron to be up so early on a Saturday, especially when he didn't have a Quidditch match or Auror duties scheduled.

She would think he would be a bit more knackered out after yesterday, too. They had gotten their second wind after eating the takeout, racing each other back to the bed to battle out round two.

She had won, of course.

Her thighs were still a bit sore from working herself over him for so long, drawing out his torment until he begged her to finish. She had gladly complied, since she was of course obligated to do everything he said. At least until midnight tonight.

He jostled her shoulder, making her sit up to eye him with discontent.

"Get up, lazypants. I'm thinkin' that I'd quite like for you to make us some pancakes. Chocolate pancakes."

The grin on his face reminded her of the boy she had met on the Hogwarts train. A rather unimpressive little boy with a streak of dirt on his nose and the most infectious grin she had ever seen.

She rolled her eyes, shoving away from him violently and staggering to the dresser to retrieve one of his oversized T-shirts.

He followed her to the kitchen, clad only in a baggy pair of pants patterned with tiny snitches and brooms. She would have to chuck those out soon, they were getting a bit ratty about the edges, unraveling along the elastic waistband.

She began to wave her wand at the cabinet, bringing down the ingredients, but he wrapped his hand around her wand, yanking it out of her grasp. She turned to glare at him as he put her wand on top of the icebox, just out of her reach. He smirked at her, flipping a kitchen chair around backwards to straddle it confidently, resting his chin on one fist.

"None of that, now. I'd like you to make them the muggle way. I like watching you do muggle things."

The waggle of his eyebrows attempted to give his words a naughty edge, but she knew that he really did like to watch her do muggle things; it fascinated him and usually ended with him demanding that she show him how.

She sighed, turning to retrieve all of the ingredients herself. Making pancakes without any magic turned a five-minute activity into half an hour. Now she would have to be more careful following the recipe and perform every step one at a time rather than using her wand to perform several tasks at once.

Within the next twenty minutes she was covered in flour and sugar, growling with frustration as her batter simply spread like water in the pan rather than puffing up as it should.

She looked back over her recipe to discover that she had left out the baking powder, something she would never have done if she had been using her wand to retrieve the ingredients. She stomped over to the cabinet, yanking it open to find the tin of baking powder staring her in the face, mocking her failure at domesticity.

"Oi, watch it!"

She spun around to find Ron throwing the flaming pan into the sink, thick plumes of smoke rising as he doused the burning mess with the tap.

She slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, resting her head on her arms dejectedly.

Ron patted her on the back, his voice overly cheerful as he attempted to console her.

"Never mind that, love. You never were any good at doing what I tell you anyway."

She groaned, feeling her eyes fill with tears. She hated failing, in any capacity. And this was something that was usually so simple. She felt like an idiot. She sniffed loudly, making Ron raise her chin with his hand so he could look in her eyes.

"No-nonononono, don't cry. It's alright, Hermione. Look, we can just eat the batter, it's good!"

He grabbed the bowl up from the counter, shoving a heaping spoonful into his mouth as he pantomimed extreme enjoyment. She held her hands out to him in warning.

"No, Ron, there are raw eggs in-"

But there were the eggs, sitting unbroken on the countertop, yet another step she seemed to have forgotten. At first the sight made her even more depressed, but then looking at her husband, clutching the mixing bowl with batter dripping off of his chin...something shifted inside her and suddenly everything was actually quite funny.

...

Ron watched his wife in astonishment as she succumbed to hysterical laughter. He should never have demanded that she make him breakfast. It had been a petty thing to use his winnings for, after all, and just look at the way things had turned out.

Still...this batter really was delicious, sweet and chocolaty and rather runny. A bit more like chocolate sauce than batter. He took another large spoonful, slurping it like soup.

Hermione wiped her eyes, looking up at him, her chest still shaking with laughter. Her rather enticingly jiggling chest...

He had an idea. A really, really spectacular idea.

"Hermione, come and try some of this, s'really good!"

She shook her head.

"Oh, Ron, you don't have to pretend for me. I know it must be dreadful."

He shook his head furiously, setting the bowl down on their small kitchen table and bringing the loaded spoon to her lips.

"Taste it."

She stuck out the delicate pink edge of her tongue, just barely grazing the surface of the spoon. His body reacted as if that tongue had been grazing him. He cleared his throat as she closed her eyes with a little hum of contentment.

"See? S'good, isn't it?"

She nodded, reaching that tongue out to lick a drop of batter from her lips. He dropped the spoon back into the bowl, sliding his hands beneath the old shirt she was wearing and lifting it off of her before she could protest.

She sat there naked and startled, staring at him curiously. He loved that she no longer rushed to cover herself in front of him. He would hope that by now she should know just how much he loved the way she looked ... and the effect she had on him; heart, body, and soul.

Holding her gaze, he lifted the spoon out of the bowl, drizzling her chest with the batter. She jumped slightly, looking aghast at the mess he had made before bringing her eyes back to his.

"Ron! What are you doing!"

He knelt in front of her, leaning in to catch a bit of batter about to drip off of one tightly budded nipple.

"Mmm, I'm having breakfast."

Her hands settled in his hair, giving him silent encouragement as he licked the rest of the batter from her breasts with wide flat strokes of his tongue, going over every inch of her until she was totally clean. He started to reach for the bowl again but she stood, pulling him up with her and then shoving him back until his arse perched on the edge of the table.

Giving him that wonderful wicked smile that she reserved just for him, the smile that had fueled his patronus on more than one occasion, she went up on her toes to kiss his lips. Her mouth was impossibly smooth and warm and delightfully chocolate flavored. Just as he started to wrap his arms around her she pulled away, running one finger down the center of his chest as her voice rang low and sweet.

"Isn't there anything you would like to ask of me?"

She stepped in close, rubbing herself against his tented pants, her voice dripping honey.

"Or demand, rather?"

His eyes nearly crossed as she wrapped her fingers around his waistband, tugging his pants down a few maddening inches.

"Y-yes. Yes. There is. You should...um...you should definitely have some breakfast. S'most important meal of the day, y'know?"

She nodded seriously, making his heart seize as she pulled his pants down to his knees. He kicked them off hurriedly while she turned to the mixing bowl, going back to exactly the position she had left him in, lest she change her mind.

Please, please, please don't let her change her mind.

She brought the bowl closer to the edge of the table, dipping her finger in for a fat scoop of batter and drizzling it down the trembling ridges of his stomach. Then his heart stopped as she looked him directly in the eye and slowly sucked her finger into her mouth, pulling it out to show it licked completely clean of batter.

Sweet merciful fuck. That was... she was so...Fuck.

He rushed to pull her hair away from her face as she knelt before him, lapping up the batter in tiny dashes of her little pink tongue against his skin. She really took her time to give him a thorough cleaning; leaving his knees shaking slightly by the time she was finished.

Thank Merlin he was perched on the table, or else they'd have hit the floor by now.

Which was not such a bad idea now that he thought of it...

Shit!

He jumped as cold batter ran down his cock, dripping from the spoon she held over him. She looked up at him with a cheeky grin, shrugging her shoulders as she returned the spoon to the bowl.

"Oops."

That was it. She was really trying to kill him. It was going to be bloody fantastic, but he was going to die, of heart failure if nothing else.

Resigned to his terrible fate, he used both hands to pull her hair back, unwilling to miss a moment of this. He loved her hair, but he really, really loved watching her do what he thought she was probably about to do.

She sat back on her heels in front of him, inspecting the mess she had made. Leaning slowly forward, she lay the wet flat of her tongue against the base of him, stroking it all the way up to the tip. His cock jumped a bit, flinging batter up onto his stomach, but she just continued as though nothing had happened.

Bracing both hands against his thighs, she cleaned his shaft in spiraling licks, making very sure to get every speck of batter. Just when he thought he couldn't take any more of that, she simply pushed the head of his cock into her mouth; bathing him in sweet, wet warmth and making his hips buck against her.

"Fuck, Hermione!"

His voice cracked embarrassingly on the 'ee', but she didn't seem to notice, her focus instead remaining entirely on her efforts. He could really appreciate that kind of dedication.

Sucking lightly, she moved down until he could feel the back of her throat working against him, pulling back up to flick him with her tongue. She did this a few more times before he was forced to pull her away, tugging gently on the hair he held in both fists. Much more of that and he would...

She nuzzled against his cock, and the sight of him slick and shiny from her mouth, pushed up against her beautiful face was so bloody hot that he was literally speechless for a moment, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

She stood, reaching for the bowl, but he caught her wrist in his hand, turning them so that she was bent over the table, her elbows resting on the surface.

"No more. Wanna fuck you."

She arched her back, wiggling her arse against him provocatively, letting loose something primal within his chest. He covered her from behind, latching his mouth onto her shoulder as he slid inside of her, groaning as her body gripped him tightly.

She made that sweet little sound in the back of her throat, the sound that never failed to drive him all the way to the edge of his control. An edge he had definitely passed a few tongue swipes ago.

Reaching around her body, he buried his fingers into the slick warmth between her thighs, feeling himself moving against her. The wet, sucking sound of their joining coupled with the feel of them melding together beneath his hand made him absolutely mad for her. He wanted her to truly be with him, to grow just as mad as he was. Bringing his fingers up, he teased her little peak of flesh, making her hips push back against him as she panted his name.

He loved his name on her lips like that, the way it always seemed to have come from somewhere deep within her, some secret source beyond her control.

He moved his fingers faster, quickly finding her favorite rhythm as he drove himself into her harder and deeper with every stroke. She said his name again, her voice breaking on a scream as her body shuddered beneath his, rippling around his cock.

Gripping her hips with both hands, he pounded into her like he was trying to break through to the other side, knowing from experience that she could take whatever he had to give. She leaned farther forward, letting him slip in that tiny bit deeper, the slick walls of her body giving under the relentless pressure of his cock.

He choked on her name as the tingling in his balls erupted into pulsing heat all over his body, pouring himself into her before collapsing against her back, nuzzling into the damp curls at the base of her neck.

"Mmm."

She nodded slowly, her head rocking against her folded arms on the table.

"My thoughts precisely."

He barked out a surprised laugh, withdrawing from her body and backing up until he could sit in a chair, gathering her into a boneless heap in his lap.

A rather sticky boneless heap.

"Fancy a shower?"

She moaned into his neck, definitely in the affirmative.

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	8. Chapter 8

**I am not J.K. Rowling, and I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Well, this chapter wraps it up, I hope you enjoyed the story! Please go read the other stories from the Big Bang at rhrlove . com (without spaces) they are all just bursting with Ron and Hermione goodness! **

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...Chapter 8...

Hermione emerged from the bedroom, wrapping a fresh towel around her hair to absorb a bit more of the ocean of water she always managed to accumulate in the ridiculous mess of curls.

Planning to clean up the mess from, um..."breakfast" before Ron could command her to leave it there or something, she stopped short as she spied an envelope sitting in the middle of the kitchen table.

She spun around sharply at a soft scratching noise behind her, finding to her immense relief that it was only Harry's newest owl, Aldara, perched atop her dish cupboard. She stared at the elegantly poised bird for a few moments, putting her hands on her hips in puzzlement.

"How did you get in here?"

"Who're you talkin' to?"

Ron walked into the kitchen, his words muffled by the towel he had thrown over his head and was rubbing vigorously to dry his hair. His beautiful, silky hair would likely be completely dry in a few moments, the lucky prat. He pulled the towel off of his head, squeaking as he came face to face with Aldara, making Hermione bring her hands up to stifle a giggle.

"Oi, how'd she get in here?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, picking up the envelope on the table.

"I think Harry sent her with a message, it seems as though she's waiting for a reply."

The bird bobbed her head as if she were nodding, Ron slowly backed away from her to stand with Hermione, peering over her shoulder at the letter.

"What's it about?"

Hermione scanned Harry's familiar scrawl for any sign of trouble before going back and reading it more carefully.

"Apparently your mother has trapped him and Ginny into a family dinner at the Burrow. He wants us to come and support them when they break the big news."

Ron nodded, sneaking an arm over her head to take the letter and read it himself.

"More like he wants us there to save his arse when they break the big news."

Hermione shrugged, putting the bowl and spoon into the sink before he had a chance to notice what she was doing.

"Well, however you want to put it, I think we should go."

Ron groaned, turning pleading blue eyes on her.

"But it's my last night of the bet! We can't spend the rest of it behaving ourselves with my family!"

She wanted to laugh at the way he spat out "behaving ourselves" as though she were suggesting he put on a ruffled nightdress and parade through Diagon Alley. But the look of genuine distress on his face gave her pause. She brought her hand up to his cheek, patting softly.

"What if I promise to shag all you want, for another entire week?"

He perked up like she had just told him the Cannons had won the World Cup, the lopsided grin on his face warming her insides. There was something about a truly joyful Ron-grin that lifted up his entire being so that he appeared even taller, more confident. He could do anything with that grin.

"Alright. But since we're wasting the rest of my winnings by going to a bloody family dinner, I have one more request."

…

She could not possibly have felt any more ridiculous if she had tried.

She had not gotten a chance to do her hair properly, as Ron had fancied having the same thing for lunch as they had enjoyed for breakfast, and the frizzy mass atop her head made her feel like a harpy. She was also fairly certain that her face was red from stubble burn, though at least her cheeks had fared better than the fragile skin of her thighs.

Then, to top it off, there was Ron's demand.

From the overlong scarf looped around her neck to the slouchy hand-knit socks slipping from her ankles, she was dressed entirely in Chudley Cannons orange. The garish T-shirt he had shrunk to fit her even sported a blinking lighted sign proclaiming the superiority of the team.

She kept to the shadows, slinking around the Burrow in the futile hope that no one would notice her. She was forced to cross her arms over her chest to diffuse the obnoxiously bright orange lights.

"Lose a bet, bookworm?"

She jumped, looking up into George's laughing eyes, panic creeping in. Surely he didn't know ... he couldn't know! How could he possibly…?

If Ron had told him ... well, her husband had just better hope that he hadn't said a single word or else she'd...

"Don't worry, darling, orange really suits you. Doesn't it, Ange?"

"Holy shit, what happened to you?"

"I think she lost a bet with Ronniekins."

"Oh, thank Merlin. I was afraid she'd gone mad."

"Well, I wouldn't discount the possibility entirely..."

Hermione lifted her chin in the air as she turned and stomped away, leaving the couple to collapse on each other in a pile of gasping laughter.

She tried to arrange the scarf so that it blocked out a significant portion of the blinking lights as she took a deep breath and entered the kitchen to lend a hand in the meal preparation. She was thankful that nobody had seen the debacle she had made of this morning's breakfast. In fact, she really hoped that everyone would attribute the red in her cheeks to the heat of the kitchen …

As she and Ginny were sent out to lay the table, she took the opportunity to have a private word, resting her hand on Ginny's arm as she leaned in to whisper.

"Is everything alright, Ginny?"

Her sister-in-law beamed at her, happiness bubbling up to overcome the nervousness Hermione had seen edging into her face.

"Everything is perfect."

They shared a smile before Hermione turned away to arrange the silver, blinking back some unexpected tears. It was just that … maybe Ginny was right, and not only regarding herself and Harry. Perhaps everything really was perfect, and had been all along, and she had just been allowing the little unimportant things to pile up around her until she couldn't see over them to the beauty of her life. Her life with Ron.

Mrs. Weasley brought out the food and the entire family descended on the dinner table like a swarm of locusts, demolishing the first platters in a matter of minutes. Mrs. Weasley didn't even blink an eye as she summoned fresh platters from the kitchen, conversations erupting all over the table as everyone settled down to their second plates. The meal went exceedingly well, in Hermione's opinion, as no one else even commented on her odd attire beyond a brief waggle of the eyebrows from Harry.

As Mrs. Weasley returned to the table with the pudding, Harry stood with that air of importance he had been able to command for as long as Hermione could remember. There was something about Harry Potter that demanded attention, and it was Hermione's long-held opinion that he would have done quite well for himself even if he had not been the most famous boy in the Wizarding World. He would have been extraordinary regardless, she was sure of it.

Ginny stood by his side, her arm looped around his waist as she looked over at her parents. Mrs. Weasley sat down heavily beside her husband, Ron diving frantically to save the pudding as she raised the hem of her apron to her face, tears already pooling in her eyes. Hermione looked at Harry expectantly, but it was Ginny who broke the news.

"I'm pregnant."

The room was deathly quiet as everyone turned to watch Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He kept one arm wrapped about her shoulders as she wept noisily, his other hand coming up to swipe at the corner of his eye behind his glasses. Hermione began to feel dread curl in her stomach as the silence stretched on, watching Harry's smile start to wilt at the corners.

Everyone gathered at the table breathed an audible sigh of relief as Mrs. Weasley stood shakily, a joyous smile sparkling through her tears. Mr. Weasley stood behind her, his hands bracing his wife's shoulders as he beamed with pride at their only daughter. Mrs. Weasley took a halting step toward them, and Ginny flew into her arms, melding them into a beautiful mess of love and tears and freckles. Harry edged slowly closer until he was caught up in the fray by Mr. Weasley pulling him into a firm hug. Hermione thought she saw him whispering something into his son-in-law's ear, but she couldn't be completely sure.

Someone produced a bottle of wine and soon everyone was shouting congratulations, battering poor Harry about like a quaffle with friendly slaps on the back as he stumbled from one Weasley to the next.

Ginny was practically carried around the room as each of her brothers hugged her gingerly, as though afraid of damaging the baby. The only one who showed no fear was Bill, whose own child was already asleep upstairs. He laughed loudly at Percy's look of shock as their sister grabbed his hand a held it to her stomach, telling him to feel for himself when he asked her how the baby was doing.

Hermione watched all of this with a kind of wistfulness. Perhaps someday she and Ron would be standing here making the same announcement. She wondered if this was a good time to bring up the subject of children, or if he would just feel pressured to match Harry's "accomplishment."

She found him in the crowd, laughing at something George had said behind his hand as they both watched Harry receive more congratulations. He caught her eye, a wide smile still on his face, and for a frozen moment she saw everything that she had been thinking reflected there in his eyes.

Someday…

It was far more difficult to leave the Burrow than it had been to arrive, as there was always one more toast going around or one more person to hug or one more joke to be made at Harry's expense. They finally extricated themselves with a bald-faced lie about Hermione's work, practically running out into the garden once they were given the chance.

Popping back to the flat, Hermione wrapped her arms around her husband's waist as he turned the key in the lock, releasing the enchantments protecting their home.

The moment he closed the door they exploded into a flurry of activity as they wordlessly stripped the clothing from each other, flinging it hither and yon all over the living room.

Words were simply unnecessary as they swayed together, holding each other as tightly as possible while they communicated everything that needed to be said with lips and eyes and skin.

Within moments he was lowering her to the couch as he covered her with the warm length of his body. She lifted her hips insistently until he slid inside her and everything was perfection.

…

Ron nuzzled into the skin of his wife's neck as they melted into the couch, boneless after the hurried post-dinner shag. Groaning loudly, he sat up, shifting her legs out of the way as he stretched his arms over his head.

Blimey, look at the place. Cannons orange decorated every surface as Hermione's clothing was scattered much further than his own. Well, he did have a much stronger arm, he supposed…

A blinking glow under the coffee table told him the location of his favorite game day shirt, which he would need to enlarge back to its original size before the next match. He let his head fall back against the couch, rolling his neck to look at his wife.

She looked exhausted, all shagged out. Her hair was a glorious mess, nearly covering an entire arm of the couch as she lay just where he had left her, panting softly. Heaving a great sigh, she stood slowly and stepped over the orange debris to get to their room.

He followed her, pulling on some pants as she rummaged in her bedside drawer for the small bottle of potion, taking her nightly dose in a familiar ritual.

"You won't always have to take that, you know."

She looked over at him, surprise registering on her face. She couldn't be any more surprised than he was, he certainly hadn't meant to say anything, it had just … come out.

"I mean – if you don't want to…"

He swallowed thickly, his eyes jumping all over her face as he tried to read her expression. He didn't want her to feel pressured or anything…

She set the bottle down on her nightstand and walked around to the foot of the bed where he had perched himself, waiting nervously for her reaction. She stood in front of him, still blissfully naked, and took his hand in hers as she gazed into his eyes.

"What are you saying, Ron?"

He almost lost his nerve, but then he thought of Hermione with a tiny ginger baby in her arms. Not that it had to be ginger, of course. Come to think of it, he probably shouldn't wish that on his child, he didn't want it to feel like just another ginger freckled Weasley in the crowd. No, it'd be better if it had wild curling brown hair, just like its mother. Actually, it would be far better off if it just took everything from Hermione and left him out of it entirely…

Hermione cleared her throat, still looking at him expectantly. He took a deep breath and went for it.

"I just meant that … well, I think you'd make a bloody brilliant mum, Hermione. Y'know, whenever you decide you're ready …"

Something tightened in his chest as her eyes shone wet with tears, her hand closing more firmly around his own. He could tell that she wasn't sad; he'd learned a fair bit about women and tears in the course of his marriage. These were those mental "happy tears" his wife liked to spring on him to keep him off balance.

She took a shuddering breath, those tears rolling down her cheeks as she blinked luminous brown eyes at him.

"Is that what you want?"

He nodded slowly, bringing his free hand up to brush the tears from her cheeks.

"Yeah. 'Course it is, love. Well, I want it someday, sometime in the future when we're a bit more prepared for it. I've been thinking…maybe we should take a look at some houses when our lease is up. Would you – would you like that?"

She nodded firmly, making a visible effort to hold back more tears.

"Yes. I would love that. All of it."

He couldn't control the smile that split his face in two. She wanted it, too. All of it. With him. He pulled her close against him, wrapping his arms around her as he fell back to lay them both out on the bed.

…

Hermione rested her head on her husband's chest, her mind running at double speed while she struggled to sort out everything that needed to be said. He had been the only one of the pair of them brave enough to bring up the subject of children, a discussion they had been dancing around since Harry had told them the news. Now it was her turn to bring up the other subject they needed to talk about.

"Ron? I-I should tell you that I truly am sorry, for the way I've acted over the past couple of months. I'm not going to make any excuses, but I will do my very best never to treat you that way again."

Ron ran his hand through her hair, sighing deeply.

"Well, it wasn't just you, though, was it? I should've said something sooner, really told you how I was feeling instead of making some stupid bet."

She raised her head, nestling her chin in the center of his chest.

"I can't say that I haven't enjoyed they way you've chosen to collect your winnings."

He grinned at her as he pinched her bum lightly. She laid her cheek back against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with every precious breath.

"We let it get the best of us for a little while, didn't we? Life, I mean."

He nodded, meeting her eyes as she rolled them up to look at him.

"Yeah. But it's alright, as long as we always come back to this."

He held her tight against him, giving away the true meaning of his words.

"This" was _them_, it was how they should be, how they were meant to be. The way they were when they remembered what was truly important in life. The way they ceased to be just Ron or Hermione and became something so much greater when they were together.

This.

This was everything, and she would never, ever lose sight of that again.

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